


To Be a Victor

by penninghistory



Category: The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, Gen, References to Canon, from original character's point of view, prequel to canon sources, what if district 12 had more than one victor at time of canon?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:55:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26607106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penninghistory/pseuds/penninghistory
Summary: Fourteen years before the 74th annual Hunger Games, a girl named Sage Owens prays that nothing terrible will happen to her this Reaping Day. Her family had already lost so much before, but will they have to make another sacrifice? And, if so, will Sage be able to survive the challenges that await her?
Kudos: 3





	1. Chapter 1

When I awoke, thankful for once that I had been able to have a dreamless sleep, the room had a chill to it. My blanket, a rough thing made of mismatched pieces of fabric, did little to nothing to stop the cold, and when I sat up, I shivered slightly. 

Glancing across to my parent's bed, I was surprised to see that only one person was lying there. My mother, her strawberry-blonde hair streamed out behind her like a curly cloud. I stood and made my way over to her side, fixing the blanket that had fallen off her and took in her features. In sleep, she looked so peaceful, as though the events that would happen in only a few short hours weren't going to happen. Somehow, I convinced myself that when I walked down those stairs, Donovin would be there, 20 years old and full of life—reminding me that today was going to be like any other day. That nothing was going to happen. 

That changed, however, once I had gotten dressed—a simple dress of pink and dark shoes. I brushed my fingers through my hair to try and get rid of some of the tangles before padding down the steps and pausing in what we called the main room of our home. Only my father was there, a rough-looking man of 43. He was tall, broad-shouldered with blue eyes and chocolate-colored hair that only barely touched his ears on the side. He was a miner, and he liked to say that his side of the family had been born in the mines themselves. He seemed to have coal and dirt forever etched in his face and fingernails, and that was how I could remember him. His blue eyes always seemed to have a smile in them, and even today, though his smile was dimmed, it was still there. 

"Is Miss Sybil still asleep?" he asked me. I had to smile at the use of my mother's first name. He always seemed to use it when we needed a smile and laugh. 

"Yes, Mr. Cole," I said, and I saw him smile with me. 

"Are you hungry?" 

"I don't think I could eat. All I can think about is Donovin, and what he would be saying if he were here..." I paused and looked away. "I just think that he is going to walk in the door one day and say it was all a bad dream and that he was home to stay." 

I took a deep breath and hugged myself with my arms. It had been three years since my older brother had been Reaped. The 57th annual Hunger Games had been one that I would never forget, and I would never remember the heavy silence from my mother in the weeks that followed. The death of her firstborn had crushed her, and once we were able to bury his body, my mother had never been the same. 

I felt my father pull me into his arm and press a light kiss to the top of my head. "I know," he said softly. "But you know that he would want you to eat today. Besides, I got you something special." 

He pulled away, and, taking my hand, took me over to the table. There was a plate of warm pastries on the table, and I paused, looking at him. "But how-" 

"Just because we live in the Seam, doesn't mean we can't have nice things every once in a while." 

I looked at him for a long moment before going past him and taking a warm pastry from the plate and took a small bite from it, trying to savor the taste. It was mainly bread, but it seemed like Heaven to me. I raised it into the air, smiling widely, "To Donovin, may he always rise in power." 

My father smiled and nodded his agreement. "To Donovin," he repeated, and we both turned as my mother came down the stairs. "Well, well, well, if it isn't Miss Sybil, the prettiest lady in the District." 

My mother shook her head, smiling despite herself. Her blue eyes seemed to shine against her pale skin, and her hair was still tousled from sleep. She was slim, small compared to my father. While he had skin darkened from coal and dirt, my mother had pale skin, dusted with freckles. People would say that my parents were lucky to have had a son as handsome as his father and a girl as pretty as her mother. I never saw how much I looked like her, even when we looked in the mirror together. 

"I see you went and got a surprise?" Mother asked, and my father made a self-deprecating gesture, and I tried not to laugh. They were in love, that was plain to see. And I wanted to follow their footsteps and find someone to love like that, but that was only if I survived this Reaping. 

*************

My mother and father, Mr. and Mrs. Owens, as they were called, tried hard to make this day go quickly. To make sure what could easily be our last day together somewhat good. But, I saw the looks that they passed between themselves and saw that they were trying to hide their worry. 

My mom had gone upstairs and put out a pretty dress made of blue. It reached my ankles, and when I showed my mother how I looked, she smiled sadly. I left my hair in a ponytail, not wanting to change anything about how it looked. My father looked at me sadly, and his smile was starting to crack slightly. "Well, Miss Sage, daughter of the prettiest lady in the District, you are going to make it. We'll handle anything that happens, when it happens, ok?" 

It was a favorite saying of his. "We'll handle what happens when it happens." I forced myself to nod, and my father held the way out of the door. 

We had left early, and by the time we had made it to the square, one of the first horns was sounding to start to call people. I froze, my stomach sinking slightly. Even at sixteen, the horn and line of people waiting to take blood to sign us in made me terrified. I glanced around and saw some of the younger kids looking uncertain, and I nodded to my parents before approaching a group of them, smiling at their parents. "I'll help you," I said, and looked up at their parents and gave them a reassuring nod. I knew, somewhere in my mind, that these children wouldn't be picked that day. 

I took a girl's hand and then felt my other hand pulled down by her sister. I lead them to the line and let go of their hands. Stepping in front of them, I held my hand out to the woman who would sign me in, forcing myself to not wince at the sharp pain of the instrument. I allowed my hand to be placed on the paper by my name and waited for the woman to say, "Go on." 

I waited behind the table and crouched down to the girls' height. "Go up with the little kids and stick together, ok? Everything is going to be ok. I promise." They smiled their thanks and walked away, leaving me to wonder if I had been truthful with them.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A mentor, an escort, a Reaping, and a train.

When I stepped into my age group, I was surrounded by girls who I had known all my life. I had gone to school with them, and some of the girls only two years older than me had been friends with Donovin before he had died. They'd come to pay their respects to him after the Victor's Tour had passed through the District after the hollow words of the Victor had come and gone. 

And now we were here, waiting for our fates to be determined. I shook my head to get rid of the headache that was steadily growing behind my eyes. My mom called those stress headaches, and she had them every so often since Donovin passed. Trying to ignore it when shaking my head didn't get rid of it, I put my gaze on the stage and seemed to make eye contact with someone. 

He had been a Victor, ten years earlier in the Quarter Quell. I tried to reach into my memory, trying to find his name before it came to me. Haymitch Abernathy. His blonde hair was longer than my father's, and at 26, his eyes seemed tired even from where I was standing. It was said that he tried to visit the families of every fallen Tribute, as he saw those deaths as his failures. I remember the sad, "I'm so sorry I failed you, Mr. Owens. Your son was a brave man." 

We shared a look of almost understanding before my gaze was diverted to the other end of the stage, where the doors had been opened to reveal a woman whose face was covered in pale makeup. Her hair was a wig, and she wore what looked almost fake, but to the woman, it was most likely real. Effie Trinket had become an infamous person in District 12, as the escort that would take the children chosen as tributes to the Capital. She only came back once, and that was with Haymitch. Otherwise, she was only here for the Reaping. 

I tuned out most of her opening speech, which included a "Very special video from the Capital!" 

The 'very special video' was little more than the history of the Hunger Games, the war that had brought us to this point. To most people, though they wouldn't say it out loud in case of a very public punishment, the Games were little more than a spectacle for the people in the Capital. They didn't have to send their children to fight to the death in an arena. They spent their days in ease, while the rest of us would work until our deaths, or be Reaped into the Games and die. Or become a Victor. But, there had been no District 12 Victors since Haymitch, and there wasn't much of a chance that there would be another one. 

I snapped out of my thoughts when Effie started to talk again. "Now," she announced happily, "the time as come for us to select one courageous man and woman for the honor of representing District 12 in the 60th Annual Hunger Games. As usual, ladies first." 

My eyes felt glued onto the woman as she strode over to the glass bowl containing the entries of the girl population of District 12. It felt like I was looking at a dead body, I wanted to look away, but my eyes remained on Effie as she plucked a folded and sealed piece of paper from the bowl and strode back to her microphone. I tried to remember how many times I had put my name in, how many times had I risked myself for my family to have food on the table. How many times since Donovin had died had I ignored my mother's pleadings for me to not put my name in? 

I barely heard her open the paper, but when she spoke, "Sage Owens," the world felt like it had been pulled from under my feet. I was dizzy, and I froze, even as my friends stepped away from me. Stunned, I made my way to the aisle, where Peacekeepers surrounded me, two in front, two in back. One of them had placed their hand on the small of my back, and I was led to the stage, where I numbly walked up the steps to stand next to the woman. She smiled at me, and I forced myself to smile back. She asked me questions, but I could barely hear my answers. She selected the male Tribute, a boy named Roman Thorne. 

I didn't know him, but when we shook hands, I had the sudden realization that my life was very much in his hands. 

********************

The only visitors I had before I was taken to the train were my parents. My mother was crying; her skin red from her grief. I remembered how much she had cried when Donovin had died, and suddenly had the need to be held by her one last time. When my mother was hugging me, I glanced over at my father, whose eyes were misted. 

"Miss Sage Owen," he said quietly, trying to ease the moment. "I know you can survive this. I know what Donovin taught you. You are smarter than them, and I know you will get through this because you are my daughter." 

At his last words, I let myself start to cry, and my father pulled us, his two best girls, into a hug. "My two best girls, the two prettiest girls in the District, my strong daughter." He and my mother pulled away as the door opened to reveal Peacekeepers. The time for visitation was over, and my mom hurriedly kissed my cheek like a blessing before following my father out of the room.

I wish I could remember what Effie had said on the way to the train, but it seemed like it all passed in a blur. Before I knew it, I was sitting next to Roman on the train. Even though it was moving, it felt like I was sitting still, floating in space. It took me a good half hour for my stomach to cooperate and allow me to try one of the treats found close to the seats. 

Effie was telling us that she was happy that we could enjoy some of the luxuries of the Capital. I smiled somewhat tiredly and looked over her shoulder at Haymitch, who was sitting across the room. He held something that looked like cheap whiskey, and I was suddenly curious. I stood, making my way over to the man and sat across from him. 

"You're Haymitch, right?" I asked, and he looked up at me sharply. I wondered if he could see Donovin in me if he remembered the Tribute that he had failed. 

"I suppose so," he answered. "You're the Owen's girl. Sage?" When I nodded assent, he returned the gesture and took a sip of his drink. "Your brother was a tribute two or three years ago, right?" 

"Yes. His name was Donovin." 

"Well, if you are anything like him, you should be able to survive four days," he snorted, and I looked away from him. 

"Or maybe I could be different and win the Games," I replied, "Although I'm not sure how I would do that."

He looked at me, and I could have sworn I saw him smiling at me, as though he was issuing a challenge. A challenge I was ready to face and beat.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Capital, a stylist, and a potential new ally in the games.

The next morning, I sat across from Haymitch at a mahogany table laden with various breakfast foods. Some were delicacies, and I had an arrangement of them on my plate. "What about a fire?" I asked, watching as he poured some black coffee into a mug. On his plate were pastries, their centers filled with red jelly, eggs, and fried meat. He seemed particularly fond of them, and he raised one of them to his mouth before pausing to reply. 

"An easy way to get killed," he commented, and I tilted my head to consider for a moment before nodding. 

"The smoke. Easy to spot." I suggested, taking a bite of a pastry. It had been my third that morning, and from the looks, Effie was throwing me from across the car, it would most likely be my last. 

"Exactly," Haymitch said, taking a quick sip of his coffee, "and easy to spot at night. You'd be telling everyone where you were so they could kill you easier." 

Pausing mid-sip, I looked up from my glass of apple juice. It tasted like nothing I had had before, and I wondered if this was what gods drank. "But that would make a good trap, wouldn't it? Start a fire and wait to ambush whoever came?" 

He seemed to think over his next words, as though he was weighing my idea against something in his mind. "You're batshit crazy for even thinking about doing that." Effie made an agreeing sound from the other side of the car, shooting me a knowing look. "You'd be even more batshit crazy to even attempt it. But if you do, I'll get you a gift, whatever you might need." 

I cocked an eyebrow at his words and turned to hide a smile. When I glanced at Effie, both of her eyebrows were hidden in her hair, giving him a surprised look. I held out a hand to Haymitch and said, "You're on." 

He smirked, shaking my hand as the door to the dining car opened. "Who's on?" the newcomer asked, and I turned to look at him. 

Cocky was one of the more sociable words I would've used to describe Roman Thorne had anyone asked me. He was eighteen and from one of the wealthier families in District 12. When we had gone to school together, he had always seemed to look down his nose at the kids who had come from the Seam. Donovin had protected me from the worst of Roman's bullying, but after he died, Roman had used that against me. Roman's favorite tactic was to force me to relive Donovin's death almost daily. 

"A knife," he would say. "Didn't he die from a knife to the back? I wonder how your mother feels knowing that she failed one of her children. I wonder if Donovin thought he was betraying you when he died." 

I stared at him now, coldly wondering myself he had anyone he would be betraying by dying. My Brother and I had been close, and losing him had been the worst experience of my life up to this point. Losing him meant losing one of the only people I could trust. 

Roman pulled out the chair next to mine and seemed to plop, rather than sit in it. I stood with so much force that the chair fell behind me with a bang so loud that Effie yelped from her seat. "That chair is expensive!" she cried, and I looked at her apologetically before reaching down and replacing the chair on all four of its legs. 

"What was that about Sage?" Roman asked me, and I pointed an accusing finger at him.

"Don't start that bullshit," I hissed. "I thought that I couldn't remember you, but now I do. You tormented me for months after Donovin died. You told me that I had betrayed him!" The heat was rising in my chest, and all I could see was red. Haymitch raised an eyebrow at my comment but didn't say anything, allowing me to continue. "You thought that because we'd been Reaped that I'd forgive you? That it would all just slip into the past?"

Roman looked up at me, his eyes suddenly cold. I froze, remembering the times that the look had led to something terrible. A shove into a puddle made of mud or something vile. The stolen food and the one book I had wanted to get and had finally managed to find at the Hob. I looked at Haymitch, beating Roman to the punch when I saw him take a breath to speak. "I want to be trained alone, please," I said and saw Roman glare slightly. "Please. I know what he'll do, and what he's done to me. I'd rather him not see the things that I can do." 

Haymitch finished his pastry and nodded. "Then we'll do that. Let's talk about it tonight." 

I nodded, looking away from Haymitch and out the window. Something caught my eye, and I moved closer, squinting at the bright light outside. "We're here," I said softly, my voice full of wonder. 

The Capital was like nothing I had ever seen. Tall buildings that seemed to gleam in the watery sunlight appeared to cover the horizon across a small sea or river. The view was so overwhelming; I was almost grateful when a tunnel suddenly darkened it. 

And that's when I heard the cheering. 

It seemed like a wave of sound had crashed through the walls of the train, and, moments later, I was looking out at a sea of faces, each one smiling, cheering, and clapping. Some noticed me in the window and pointed, before waving. I smiled, a real genuine smile at them, slightly in awe and shock about everything. Laughing lightly, I waved back from my window and was somewhat surprised when the cheering rose in volume. A glance back at Haymitch told me I was doing the right thing, so I turned around and kept waving as the train slid to a stop. 

********

The sudden silence of the long corridor-like room full of cleaning tables seemed like a rare novelty, one that I would have reveled in, had it not been for the pain of hot wax being pulled off of my body. I wasn't comfortable here, so I tried to make small talk to see what was happening and had learned only little details. The hot, sticky substance was wax, and it was to help them remove hair from my body. It stung, but the sting was lessened when I was talking. 

I closed my eyes as one of them, a woman with strange long eyelashes and tightly curled purple hair, dug her fingers into my hair to scrub it. The soap she used smelled fruity, and although the scrubbing hurt, I took comfort in the smell. 

Soon after, I lay quietly on the table as the two "Tribute Preppers" as they had labeled themselves, discussed something in low voices. I couldn't make out the words, but they kept making small glances at me. 

The woman smiled at me, almost reassuringly, as she moved to grab the small hose they had been using to rinse off the soap. When I shot her a confused look, she said, "One last rinse before we take you to Pluto." I nodded, feeling my stomach tighten slightly with worry. 

********

The room they took me to next was cold. Very cold. Dressed on only the small blue dressing gown I had been given, I stared up at the ceiling, trying not to think of home. Of how my mother must be sitting in her chair, staring blankly out of the window, not moving. My father would be trying to get her to say something, anything to him to get her to get out of this depressed state easier. 

I blinked away the stray feeling of tears burning behind my eyes as the door hissed open quietly. I sat up and took in the appearance of the man that had walked into the room. 

Short in stature, with short brown hair and bright brown eyes, he looked like anyone I would see in District 12. He held a hand out to me to shake. Hesitating, I shook it, a little surprised when he kept my hand in his grasp. His hands were slightly calloused, most likely from his work with fabrics and other things. "My name is Pluto," he introduced himself. 

"Sage," I said, and he nodded, looking like he was filing my name in the back of his mind. 

"I saw what you did at the Reaping," he said, and I tilted my head, slightly confused before he elaborated. "With the two girls. You helped them calm down before the Reaping. I think that was very brave of you to do." 

"More like leading them to their possible Reaping," I said quietly. "I wouldn't exactly call that brave. Besides, it was something that my brother used to do for some of the younger kids before he died. I'm just following his example." 

Pluto listened to my story, his smile small and caring. "Well, I thought it was courageous, and this should have never happened to you." 

I shrugged and pulled a face to try and move the conversation along.

"Tonight," Pluto said, "will be the Tribute parade. It's the first chance for you and Roman to be able to make a first impression on possible sponsors. Normally, District 12 would be dressed in coal miners-"

"Right. I remember watching my brother in one of the costumes. I wish I could have been able to laugh at them with him." 

Pluto pulled a fake upset look and shook his head. "Well, then I hope these are better for you. I'm hoping that these make more of an impression than the usual miner outfit."


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Annalyse, Sage and Roman appear in the Tribute parade, and a change of outfit.

That night, Roman and I were standing by a chariot. It was black, rimmed with gold, and pulled by two tall horses. I wore a black dress that brushed against my ankles softly. My hair was done up in a loose updo, as Pluto had called it. The dress had been lined with red fabric to make it look like it had flames, and there was a small cape of see-through red-orange fabric. 

Roman wore a suit of similar colors; his short hair brushed up to give it some height. On both of our heads were small bands of some dark stone-Pluto wouldn’t tell us what exactly it was that seemed to sparkle with its own inner light. So far, I had counted six Tributes shoot us appraising looks that I had met with one of my own. 

Haymitch had seen me meet the gaze of a green-eyed girl and shook his head. “I wouldn’t put too much effort into becoming an ally with her,” he’d said quietly to me. 

“Why not?” I asked, slightly surprised. The girl and I had shared a small smile and a quick nod before she had gone to her chariot. 

“I’ll explain it to you tomorrow, though I doubt you’ll really need it then. Right now,” he gave me a sharp look, “you need to be focusing on getting the sponsors’ attention. Remember-” 

“Sponsors are the difference between life and death in the arena,” I finished. “I’ve been drilling that into my head since you told me the first five times. So has Roman. Besides, I have the challenge to win with you, so I’m not about to stop worrying about sponsors.” 

Haymitch smiled slightly and then patted my shoulder. “Good work,” he said softly. He wandered over to Roman and muttered something to him that I couldn’t make out. Pluto made his way over to me, and I gave him an appreciative smile. “This is amazing,” I told him quietly. “But I’m still really nervous. I’m not sure how to make people like me, and I don’t know if smiling and waving at people will really help.” 

The stylist smiled. “I’m sure you’ll be fine. Besides, from what I’ve heard, people have already started paying attention to you.” 

He adjusted something on my costume before walking away. Scanning the room, I made eye contact with the green-eyed girl from earlier. Her dark hair was done in a complicated hairdo, her costume golden and shimmering. Her fellow Tribute, a tall, broad-shouldered man, seemed to be more interested in the chariot behind them to notice her looking at me. We shared a smile and a small wave before I turned away to step into my chariot. 

“What was that about?” Roman asked as I stood by him, adjusting my dress slightly. I looked at him; one eyebrow cocked questioningly. 

“What do you mean, ‘What was that about’?” 

“That look you gave that girl? Didn’t you know she’s from District 2?” Roman asked, a little incredulously.

“I gathered that from her costume,” I said sarcastically. “No, I knew that. But that shouldn’t matter. If she’s from District 2, she would be a good ally to have in the games. I have to talk to her.” 

How I would even get the chance to talk to her, I didn’t know. While I wasn’t too aware of her status as a Career Tribute, I knew that she had been well trained before coming to the arena. I always wondered what it was like to live in Districts 1 and 2 if they were as pretty as their costumes made them out to be. 

Roman rolled his eyes at me, looking forward now. I ignored him, trying to take as much of this in as I could. I didn’t care that I could die within the next couple of weeks. If I did, I wanted to go knowing that I had at least been able to experience something outside of District 12. Something new and exciting. 

The sounds of cheers, screams, and applause caught my attention as the first chariot started to move forward; it's horses lifting their feet with graceful strides. I smiled, feeling a sense of both dread and pride mix in my belly. I felt as though it would make me explode, and my cheeks hurt from the smile I had. 

From the corner of my eye, I saw Roman force a smile, stiff-legged. Nudging him with my foot, I waved as we exited into the wall of noise. It swelled when we exited, and I tried to ignore the pictures of Roman and me on the banners that we passed, looking around at the crowd. 

Something flew through the wind, towards Roman. He caught it easily, holding the long-stemmed flower in his hand for a second before passing it to me. “They missed,” he muttered, trying not to move his lips as he spoke. “I don’t want to be their favorite from District 12.” 

Glancing at him quickly, I raised the rose high, keeping my smile plastered onto my cheeks. We rode into a circular section of the road, and I slowly lowered my hand as a white-haired man appeared on the podium above us. He waved, and I could hear Roman’s thinly hidden growl of disgust. 

I recognized the man almost instantly. President Snow had been welcoming Tributes to the Capital for as long as I could remember, and it seemed that this year was no different. “Welcome, Tributes. Welcome,” he said, “to the 60th Annual Hunger Games. We admire your courage and your sacrifice. May the odds be ever in your favor!” 

A cheer rippled through the crowd as the chariots began to move again. I smiled at Roman, though he looked stoney face. “That went well,” I said, trying to ease the tension in the air. He said nothing, stepping off the chariot and walking away once it had stopped. I sighed, leaning against the front of the chariot, turning as I heard someone join me. 

“He’s a stick in the mud,” the girl said, and I paused. She had dark brown hair and green, oval eyes. Freckles dusted pale cheeks, and I glanced away to hide my surprise. 

“He’s always been like that,” I said quietly. I looked back to see that she was smiling at me. “Forgive me for asking, but you’re a District 2 Tribute. Wouldn’t it make you look bad for coming to talk to a District 12 Tribute?”

She shook her head, shrugging. “I don’t think so,” she replied. “Besides, it would be a good thing to make an ally before going into the arena, wouldn’t you agree?”

I had to admit that I did agree with her. Making allies was important, but I was apprehensive about her approaching me to form one. “I do. But why me?” 

“You seem different,” she said. “In a good way. You look as though you’re taking pleasure in all of this. In the hero worship, the lights…” 

“I wasn’t aware that I looked like that. I’m only trying to get Sponsors to like me. Isn’t that important as well?” 

She smiled at my reply and held out a hand for me to shake. “I’m Annalyse, but my friends call me Anna.” 

Shaking her hand and smiled back. “I’m Sage. I hope to see you tomorrow?” 

Anna nodded, turning to look at her chariot. Her fellow Tribute seemed to be watching us closely, and she rolled her eyes. “Meet me at the targets when you get there tomorrow. I’ll show you some tricks then.” 

She jumped off of the chariot, and I was left wondering why Anna had wanted to become an ally to me so quickly. 

***********

“I hear you made a friend today,” Haymitch commented over dinner. I looked across at him, confusion lighting my face.   
“She did,” Roman replied. “With the District 2 girl.” 

“Her name is Annalyse,” I snapped, almost defensively. “She wanted to become allies before going into the arena. I agreed. I wouldn’t call us friends, more like allies.” I didn’t mention how Anna had wanted to meet at the targets the next day, or how the other District 2 Tribute had stared at the two of us, or the uneasiness I had felt at her joining me. 

“I admire how quickly you made a friend,” Effie interjected, and I smiled at her. “Have you spoken to anyone, Roman? Aside from us, of course.” 

Roman, who had so far refrained from saying anything so far, looked up from his dinner and shook his head. I looked down at my plate, halfway empty of food, before looking over at Pluto. “Are you ok if I bring up something about my next outfit?” I asked him, and he shared a look with Effie, then nodded. “Is it against the rules for me to wear a suit to the interview? As much as I liked the dress, I felt uncomfortable in it.” 

Pluto looked like he was thinking quickly, glancing over at Effie to seek her approval. She thought for a moment, then nodded. “It would make her stand out more,” she said slowly. “And it could draw her more sponsors. Could you do it?” 

Her question was directed towards Pluto and his team, who nodded. “As long as we can steal Sage after dinner.” 

I nodded eagerly, turning back to my food. 

**********

After dinner, I followed Pluto and his styling team down to the lobby and then over to a place that he called his workshop. At first, I didn’t trust him, but I felt like I was in a completely different world once I stepped into the shop. Walls were lined with different fabrics and materials, and it was almost overwhelming at first. 

A woman, who had told me to call her Chartreuse, saw my curious look and then followed me as I wandered towards a piece of dark blue fabric. It sparkled more than it shined, and when I touched it, it was soft in my hands. I glanced over at Pluto. “What about this one?” I asked, and he paused. 

“Maybe,” he said thoughtfully and then continued to shuffle through the paperwork he held in his hand. He paused on one and then looked up at me before looking back down at the paper. “This one would be perfect,” he said and then beckoned me over to look over the paper. 

It was a design for a suit, more feminine than the others in a pile, and I nodded for a moment. “What do you need me to do?” I asked, and he nodded to Chartreuse. 

“We’ll have your measurements from the dress,” she said, “so we’ll use those for the suit. But, we will need to make some adjustments before your interview to make sure it fits right.” 

“Are you sure this isn’t going to be too hard?” I asked, suddenly feeling guilty about asking for the suit. 

Chartreuse shook her head, smiling gently at me. “I can’t speak for Pluto, but I’d rather you feel comfortable on the stage than not.” 

“I agree,” Pluto said. “But for now, you should get some rest. You have a busy week ahead of you.”


End file.
